


Sunflowers Just Died

by ryguy



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Episode: S4E5 Mac and Charlie Die, Fingering, Hand Jobs, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Trans Charlie Kelly, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:49:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25595305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryguy/pseuds/ryguy
Summary: "Mac and Charlie Die", a coda.
Relationships: Charlie Kelly/Mac McDonald
Comments: 14
Kudos: 43





	Sunflowers Just Died

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in two days (give or take) as a birthday gift for [Tia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cityinagarden/pseuds/cityinagarden) — and I'm only three days late with publishing. Charmac rights!  
> In this story, Charlie is a transmasculine non-binary person and Mac is a closeted gay man.
> 
> Title from "Sunflower, Vol. 6" by Harry Styles.
> 
> **Content warnings:** front hole penetration with fingers, mentions of top surgery scars, mentions of gender dysphoria  
>  **Language choices:** dick, cock, hole, sex (in reference to genitalia)

Pretend your eyes don’t catch on every item, focus, but relax, stay cool, hold your breath like a pearl diver and act tough, hold your head high: that’s the motto Charlie parrots in his mind as he shuffles through the pawn shop’s entrance behind Mac. The rusted grille gate leads into the lobby. The sign plastered on the bars reads PLANES NO FOOL OR BRINK ALL OWNED — whatever that means. The unswept floors scream health code violation, and it pains Charlie to stomp the dust bunnies flat. His shared apartment with Frank might be a grade-A mess, but it's an organized one.

This store is a nightmare.

Charlie tries his hardest to not let his impatience show, but it might as well be written on his forehead. He's probably making the weirdest face right now. His hold on the bag under his arm tightens.

“You can’t go to a gas station, there’s too many cameras, bro!”

Mac stutters in response, eyes flicking from Charlie’s face to his wildly gesturing hand, to a nondistinct spot behind him.

“I say something, and like, you forget it two seconds later. Are you sure you’re alright?” Charlie asks, “Your ears are totally bleeding, dude.”

Mac mumbles something in a low voice, unable to dispute it. Charlie huffs, softly laughing. Reaching out to briefly brush his thumb over Mac’s skin, blood sticks to his fingertip. It’s warm. Mac is warm.

His hand is swatted away with a lazy karate chop through the air. “I’m _fine_ ,” Mac's voice cracks on the word, “I feel like one million dollars!”

Mac sways on his heels like the most ungraceful dancer in the world. Charlie follows him with his eyes. It's prom night all over, transfixed by Mac who shamelessly hogs his attention.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure one million dollars would make a man ecstatic, but,” he assesses the damage on Mac’s body, nodding, “you don’t look like more than a crumpled twenty to me. No offense.”

“None taken, twenty dollars is twenty dollars. I would still rather have one mil, though.”

Charlie scrunches his nose up, pinching the bridge of it. His foot starts tapping on the floor. He's completely blanking on what their objective is. Mac is being extremely unhelpful. Charlie tiptoes through the events one by one: Luther wants them dead, check. Mac most likely has a concussion, check. Whenever Charlie squints at him, Mac just beams right back. They totaled Dee’s car, which needs to be blown up Tarantino-style —

Charlie claps his hands together. Bumping into Mac's shoulder on purpose, he walks past him.

“Well then, I need you to focus, Mister Million Dollars! Go and-and find something to blow up the car with!”

"Roger that."

Not even two seconds later, Charlie is pulled back. Mac is clutching his sleeve, fingers curling into the soft cotton blend fabric. "Charlie! Look at that wedding dress, dude."

"Huh...?"

Charlie does a 180, spotting the dress in question on a mannequin. It's a ratty ball gown dress in an ivory color with yellow undertones. The skirt hasn't seen an iron in years, but it's wide and clinches the waist. It has a corseted top that looks like it would be a size too small on either of them, especially Mac; his arms are skinny enough, even with the glamour muscles, but his shoulders are too broad and masculine and badass — and splattered with freckles.

"Pathetic," Mac chuckles, pointing at the dress. "Give it to me now."

"No," Charlie begins chanting, "no, no, no, no—!" Despite his short fuse, he stays comparatively composed. "That is NOT gonna blow a car up."

Stepping closer, Charlie stuffs the bag between his thighs, clenching them together. It's all prompt, jagged movement, like he doesn't fully know what he's doing, body on autopilot. His hands fidget with the hem of his shirt before attempting to casually take hold of Mac's face. Shouldn't be that hard, right? Dennis does it all the time.

Turns out, it is easier in theory than execution. Charlie ends up slapping his palms over Mac's cheeks.

"No dress. The dress is stupid. You're acting super stupid right now."

Charlie's palms are sweaty and get glued to Mac's face on impact. Mac's breath gets lodged in his throat but he swallows around it. "I-I'm not!"

Charlie's hands frame Mac's face. He can barely make out Mac's soft breathing.

He squishes his cheeks together. "Can you focus? Will you please find a way to fucking focus?"

There's a white glaze over Mac's dark eyes, lip caught between his teeth.

Charlie loosens his grip.

"Do you have some candy in your pockets?" Mac's balance wavers, feeling lightheaded. "I think my sugar is dropping low."

"Goddamnit!" Charlie shakes him. "Mac, we gotta get explosives for the car — something, anything!"

"And the dress."

Charlie hates that dress with every fiber in his tiny body.

***

"You're not gonna be able to eat this hot dog."

"I'll suck it down."

Mac almost chokes on his spit. His hands cramp around the stick. Mac allows himself one fleeting glance at Charlie's lips. There's nothing inherently sexual about two guys talking about sucking sausages down, except in Mac's lewd mind it's an obvious innuendo. Is he reading the situation right or is it just wishful thinking?

The air gets awkward as the fire continues to crackle. Mac scoots closer and his thigh brushes against Charlie's. It would be so easy to reach out and touch him.

Mac subconsciously leans in, licking his lips.

But then Charlie pulls out another one of his baby teeth and it reminds Mac that he hates him.

***

The keys rattle in Charlie's hand as he fights the door in an attempt to unlock it. It's past dusk, the keys are too loud, he's too jittery. He pushes with his entire upper body, jamming the key in. Like an unscratchable itch on the sole, the silence is awkward. 

"Frank's—"

"Hey, Charlie—"

Mac stops dead midway through the door, the skanky stink crashing into him. It's food dried onto Tupperware, plastic melting into the radiator indents, and clothes that haven't seen cleaning detergent in over two weeks. Mac gulps down the urge to bolt to the shitter down the hall and retch.

"Ew, dude, open a fucking window!" Mac coughs discreetly. "It's like something died in here."

"On it!" Charlie trudges through the trash heap that is the floor and yanks the window open. "I don't usually do this for people, but since we're best buds and all..."

Mac takes a deep breath, then exhales slowly. "Thanks, dude. Feeling honored in the trash dump tonight."

"The dead thing is not complete bullshit, actually. I think one of my bugs got eaten by a spider in the corner." Charlie pulls his shirt over his head. "It's kinda sad if you think about it too long."

Mac looks up at Charlie from the bent-over position he's in, untying his shoelaces. God is shunning him, shunning that feeling in him that prevents a passing glance. Like walking past the lingerie store as a young teen, it's embarrassing for an unspeakable reason. It's obvious that his eyes are fixed on Charlie's body; it's pudgy and soft looking. His chest is hairy and somewhat freckled. Taking into account how frequently he gets hurt, the scars running below his pecs are unexpectedly healed. The subtle tan lines over Charlie's biceps are a little harder to make out. He's warm like the summer sun, or maybe it's Mac's own body that feels hot and bothered.

Mac mentally drags himself through the mud for falling for the idea of Charlie. It's stupid and gay, and gay and stupid. He hurriedly looks away, scratching the nape of his neck.

"So, what were you saying about Frank? Where is he, anyway?" Once he lets himself look back, Charlie has his holey black shirt with the shiny horse on it in his hands.

"Oh yeah! Yeah, okay, I wanted to mention that he's uhm, he's out." Charlize gazes down at the shirt. "So you could stay over and not sleep in the closet or between two men," he adds while putting it on. His muffled voice is endearing, childlike from the rush of getting into his favorite pajama shirt.

"Really?" asks Mac. "Aw man, that's sweet!"

"But you gotta promise me that we'll sleep ass to ass."

Mac waves it off. "Yeah, yeah, whatever." He plops down on the pulled out couch. "Do you have that MP3 player? The one I got you in February?"

Charlie's brows knit into a frown. "I think so? I mean," he backtracks, "I didn't throw it out or anything! I love it when you get me things, man." He gives Mac a lopsided smile.

Mac blinks up at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, totally! It's like... I love hoarding shit, yeah?" Mac nods along. "And I love... small things, things that do other things, things that make sounds!" The bed dips under Charlie, the old mattress screaking under them. He sits with one leg neatly tucked under him. "Discs, instruments, pssh, pow, du du dun, owh-" he says while playing air drums, "I guess what I'm trying to say is," he pauses, "thanks, Mac?"

"Woah, that's like, weirdly personal. But not weird because it's coming from you, personally! Just weird because it's personal. In general."

Charlie lets out a deflated snort. "Yeah, no, I get it. I'm probably like, the weirdest guy you've ever met."

"But you're weird in a good way!"

"Can anyone be weird in a good way?"

"You totally are, bro."

Charlie smiles so big the wide grin adorning his face accentuates his smile lines. He digs below the pillow next to Mac, fishing out the music player from the pillowcase.

"I keep it stashed here." He tosses it into Mac's lap. "Used to listen to stuff to de-stress before the cat food fiasco."

Mac fumbles with his fingers to find the on and off switch. "That's cool. Dennis uses earplugs 'cause I have sleep apnea and it fucks up his beauty sleep."

"I've never heard you snore." Charlie scratches his nose.

"That's 'cause you snore, louder, buddy. And you kick, hard." Mac hits play. _Sometimes I feel I've got to—_ "'Tainted Love'?" he recognizes in an instant. "This is so gay, dude."

"Pfft, I don't care," Charlie says, "This one is fun. It sounds like 'Law & Order'."

The corners of Mac's lips curl up in a sheepish smile. "I mean, I kinda like this song, too." Then he sputters, "Not in a gay way, though!"

"'Not in a gay way'," Charlie imitates Mac's voice, "shut up, you sound gay even when you're trying to be homophobic! You came out to me in sixth grade, dude."

"To you, yeah! Wait, no, that wasn't in sixth grade. It was high school—"

"Just drop it and pass me the glue! This shit sounds best when you're tripping on somethin'."

Mac cocks a brow. "Are you implying that we should get high and listen to quintessential pop songs?"

"When have we ever hung out sober? We've been robotripping since high school."

Mac snickers. "We're so fucked up, dude."

Charlie bumps his fist into Mac's shoulder. "Cheers, I'll huff to that."

They get moderately high and put on a movie: "Bridget fucking Jones's Diary", minus the fucking. Mac argued that it's worth it because it's relatable; Bridget starts out fat, single and past thirty. The film inspires hope.

"I don't get it," says Charlie.

"What don't you get?"

"Hugh Grant is totally out of her league."

Mac hums, eyes on the girl dashing across the screen into her heartthrob's arms. The romance is cheap, the kiss is fake and it's depressing to witness. "You're not entirely wrong," he says, "but that's not what the movie is about." 

"How am I supposed to feel like I have a chance with a guy like that? It's all bullshit."

Mac whistles. "Someone has the hots for 'white guy four thousand and sixty-three'."

"That's not funny, you're white too," Charlie says, laughing. "What makes you any different?"

"Well, you have a chance with me."

The pillow between them makes a scratching sound as they shift uncomfortably. Charlie starts fidgeting with his hands, staring at his lap. He rationalizes that this is unlike Mac's general delusions.

"Are you _sure_ you don't have a concussion?"

Mac chuckles sarcastically. "Do I look like a man with a concussion?"

"Uh, yeah."

Mac presses his lips into a thin line and whines.

"Listen, I—" He clears his throat and lowers his voice. "I've been thinking about it... and if _you_ wanna... then I wanna..."

"But why?"

"W-What do you mean why?"

Charlie peeps up at Mac with pleading eyes. "Why me?"

"I don't know! You're super nice to me all the time and you don't laugh at me for liking dudes and I like hanging out at your place and I like you a lot—"

"Okay," Charlie whispers.

"—and I know this must be, wait what?"

"I said okay! I like you too."

Mac looks stupidly lovestruck and he feels like the rug has been ripped out from under his feet.

Charlie lays back, kicking his sweatpants off and following Mac with his eyes.

"Does this make me the girl?" Charlie winces at his own words. "I don't really dig that."

"No, we're both guys. Duh."

"Well, that's just not true."

"Okay, fine," Mac says, "I'm the guy and you're-you're Charlie. Sounds good?"

Charlie nods. Their eyes meet.

A mindless determination ignites in Mac. His hand explores Charlie's pasty thigh, fingertips pressing into the plump skin. It's soft to the touch. He's frisky like a teenager, blunt nails scraping marks into Charlie's leg. Once his hand is close enough to Charlie's crotch, he slings a leg over him.

Mac's fingers begin lightly petting Charlie's sex in small circles. He feels him up, strokes his cock with two fingers.

Charlie whines in his ear. "Wait, Mac—"

Mac's hand is splayed over him, hovering inches from his dick. His nostrils flare with a deep breath. His veins pump with arousal and it makes his ears ring.

In a low voice laced with concern, Mac asks, "Am I doing it wrong?"

"No," says Charlie, "no, not at all. You're... actually kind of amazing at... touching. But please uh, use some lube, it's..."

"Oh! Oh, yeah, okay — yeah, sorry. Do you have...?"

Charlie nods. "Under the bed." He holds his breath for a moment. "You don't mind?"

Mac stretches over Charlie, looking under the bed. "Nah, I use lube all the time." He feels around for the bottle. "I just don't really get how things work, 'cause with Carmen, it was a little different..."

Charlie feels stuck in his head while Mac is babbling. "Yeah," he says without really listening. His voice sounds like one of many. The tightness in his chest dissolves as he reaches for Mac's hand. He squeezes his hand. Charlie is grounded once Mac's face comes into view again. Mac is talking and talking, "[...] and she was still wet, which I found kinda weird, honestly," and Charlie squirms under him.

"Can you say some of those nice things again?"

Mac blinks at him. "Uhm, sure." With a sympathetic smile, Mac begins, "well, I think I've said this before, but you're really pretty right now. A-And you're handsome! Pretty and handsome, yeah."

The lube drips from Mac's slick fingers onto the sheets. Tentatively, his fingers glide over Charlie's sex.

Charlie giggles. "You can go at it a little rougher. I won't break."

Mac's eyes are wide as he starts rubbing Charlie's cock with purpose. And Charlie is loud. Well, it's to be expected, Mac thinks. Every moan is a treat and a demand. Do it, do it more, but not too long. Withdraw at the right time but be pushy when needed. Mac glides his finger around Charlie's wet hole.

"Can I put it inside?

Charlie spasms, a restless grind continuing against Mac. The question jolts the air from his lungs. Mac gets off on the sharp gasping in his ear, and he breathes back with every move of his fingers. Something about it feels terribly real, indescribable. Does Charlie want this? Mac's arms are a shelter, strong and protective. He holds him close, and kind, without lacking toughness. It makes Charlie refocus, take him in.

Mac is lean, but not scrawny. He has three inches on Charlie, but in bed, that's omittable. Mac is level with him. Charlie doesn't know where one of them ends and the other begins; except Mac is hot, but not in the way Sigourney Weaver is hot. He is hot because he desires all of Charlie.

Charlie trusts Mac.

"Yeah," he says, tongue heavy around the word, "want it."

Mac could get high again on praising Charlie. "You're so pretty," he says. His index finger rubs against Charlie's hole, experimenting.

A fingertip slips through, pushing inside. It's tight, wet, and the heat envelops him, pushing deeper with an insatiable hunger. A shiver runs through him, every sun-bleached hair on his arm rising. He feels the same goosebumps on Charlie's skin.

"Fuck—" Charlie moans, thighs tensing. Mac's other hand rests on his knee and pushes his legs further apart. 

And Mac is talking to him, talking him through the initial discomfort. "You're so fucking handsome, and gorgeous, holy shit, Charlie—" It's empty talk through and through, but the dirtiness is something new and arousing. "You're like, the hottest guy I know." That's a lie. Mac firmly believes he's the hottest guy in Philly. Still, he knows firsthand how easily a hyperbole can make a man forget his own name.

Charlie feels full as Mac rams a second finger inside his hole. The sensation is intense. His thumb skims up and down his cock, too gentle, making Charlie push his hips into the palm of his hand. Mac groans, fucking Charlie with his fingers in earnest. The most titillating part, however, is the teasing tension as Mac snakes that same hand up between them, walking his fingers up Charlie's chest. Charlie is speechless, captivated by Mac. The back of Mac's hand caresses Charlie's neck before his fingers curve around the short bristles on his jaw.

In a subdued whisper, Mac instructs him to open his mouth. "C'mon baby, open wide."

Mac watches, eyes set on Charlie's spit-glossed lips. Charlie swallows, and the void seconds feel like an eternity. He flicks his tongue out, tasting himself on Mac's fingers. It's salty and metallic. That contagious desperation urges Mac to crane his neck up and whine. He peers down at Charlie's face with great attention. Charlie's hair is a wild mess, sticking to his forehead from the sweat. His lips are pink, soft-looking, begging to be kissed silly.

Mac's hand drops between their bodies again, tracing his scars. Charlie's breath hitches. He bats his lashes, the dark lines below his waterlines giving him a jaded look. A cardinal redness spreads across his cheeks and nose. Mac's dick throbs at the sight before him.

_This must make me sound like a needy virgin, but,_ "I wanna kiss you," _and I don't think I've ever wanted to kiss anyone this bad, but,_ "right now," _you look like one of my wet dreams._

Charlie makes a sound in the back of his throat. "Then do it, pussy."

Mac crashes their lips together. In Charlie's eyes, he seems to be ahead, always knowing what to do. The rush of adrenaline entrances him and he forgets to catch Mac's fumbling attempts at being suave in bed. The cheesy whispers are endearing, his shaking hand is honest and Charlie likes how hot his skin feels. Mac's lips quiver.

He pulls back often, bares his teeth, and the rawest parts of himself. He curls his fingers the same way he curls his tongue, craving more. His fingers slip right into his heat and then pull out, smoothing over Charlie's thighs. Mac's fingers dig into his flesh and squeeze harshly. Charlie's toes curl with every subtle touch. Mac thrusts in, gradually, building anticipation — and then it's gone, but not so long to let Charlie forget what it feels like to be cared for.

"Can you take more?"

Charlie shakes his head. "Two's good, it's so good, don't stop—"

Mac mumbles something into his neck, sounding blissful, and then his fingers are back inside, hitting a new spot. He flattens his tongue out and licks his way up his neck, to the junction of his jaw. Charlie arches his back. The shrill moan he lets out is a sweet sound that clogs Mac's senses. He is too into it to imagine a hot model wailing beneath him.

Charlie seizes Mac's wrist, pulling him closer. "Mac, please," he keens.

"Gonna come for me, Charlie? Yeah?"

"Yeah, dude, fuck—" A moan drips from Charlie's lips.

Mac catches his earlobe between his teeth, nibbling gently. He keeps rubbing his thighs together, relieved at the gratification of friction. "Mm, fuck." His hips pin Charlie to the bed. "Charlie—"

Charlie clenches his legs together, trapping Mac's hand between. He feverishly ruts back against him. Mac's cheeks burn from Charlie's beard. He plunges at his exposed neck, biting it to muffle a thick moan. Mac is taking shallow breaths, inhaling Charlie's sex-ridden scent. It smells like Mac's room after a workout; musky.

Mac's fingers pound into his tight hole with a merciless, but somewhat clumsy rhythm. It's like a manual vibrator, shaking hard and fast. Mac's palm rubs against his cock with every thrust. The softness of his sex makes Mac ache with lust. 

Charlie is losing his coherency as Mac's lips abuse every inch of skin he has. Mac crooks his fingers, bumping into Charlie's sweet spot with ruthless abandon. Charlie feels like he could explode. His vision is swimming. His sex tightens and it feels _amazing_. That hyperawareness fades into nothing all too fast. His eyes are screwed shut and Mac is kissing him, he realizes. Charlie's fingers twine in his hair and pull at it. Mac's eyes slip shut as Charlie's wetness soaks his hand.

Mac slowly slips his fingers out. He pushes his forehead into Charlie's shoulder.

Charlie feels his come trickle down his thighs. The sex was good, overall, but it wilted all the energy in him. He is now staring up at the ceiling, body slack, breathing through his mouth. "Gross."

A minute or so passes as he comes down from the climax. He's panting, like someone who just ran a marathon.

Mac opens his eyes and sees Charlie watching him. He seems intrigued. Mac's mouth is agape, bottom lip jutted out in a pout. The question on his lips dies as Charlie slips his small hand underneath the waistband of his briefs.

"Let me," he says, "you look like you need it."

And he doesn't wait for an answer, trembling fingers wrapping around Mac's dick. His comment goes straight to Mac's ego. Does he really look that needy? Hair gel is melting down the nape of his neck. His hard cock is rutting into Charlie's fist. His hands are clinging to him a little too tight. The heavy-lidded look he is giving Charlie is telling of how close he is. Charlie bites down on his lip.

"That good?"

Mac nods. He submits to the pleasure and cries out Charlie's name repeatedly, growing noisier each time. Charlie circles his thumb over the head of Mac's cock. White-hot flashes spark at his periphery. His body jolts. He sucks his stomach in and lets loose, spurting come over Charlie's fingers. It covers his knuckles, his arm, and smears on his stomach. Charlie's hand stops moving as he observes wordlessly. He concludes that Mac is pretty when he comes.

Mac collapses atop him. They lay there, stuck together at the hip and shoulder. Mac is "kind of" heavy in the same way Charlie is "kind of" confused. 

Charlie grunts. "Get off, fatass."

Mac is already fast asleep, and Charlie doesn't mind the weight on top of him.

**Author's Note:**

>  **\+ author's note**  
>  Based on the concept of little deaths (orgasms), and the fact that Charlie reminds me of sunflowers. Once the symbolism tap on my brain opens, I cannot stop seeing. Thanks for reading and feel free to shout at me in the comments! Let me know if a sequel where Charlie pegs Mac while wearing the wedding dress (or something similar) is worth writing ✌️😗  
> I know that Mac technically doesn't come out until HOHC, but I like to think that in some capacity, he has opened up to Charlie about questioning himself around high school. They're best friends 💞  
> The short story is that Charlie came out to Mac around the same time Mac started talking about liking boys. When Frank came around, he paid for Charlie's top surgery. As for the long story, it may become a prequel.  
> PS. robotripping means abusing DXM (cough syrup).
> 
> **\+ playlist recommendations**  
> [This](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4udaxUsdTZSGJoxGYYbamB?si=AhIf5HCiSFqG-xuqsGpjdQ) is my current favorite CharMac playlist :-) helped with getting in the mood for writing. I would also like to recommend [this](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2qAaO02SRkvC7yymgmtfnI?si=z4eV__90RaeucvdKK16nug) childhood best friends to lovers playlist! Oh, and go listen to "Arms Tonite" by Mother Mother and "Like Sexy Dynamite" by The Orion Experience.
> 
> **\+ research materials**  
>  HIGHLY suggest reading [this](https://xanwest.wordpress.com/2018/03/19/essays-and-resources-about-writing-trans-and-or-non-binary-literature/) all-encompassing blog post on essays and resources about writing trans/non-binary literature by Xan West. Even as a trans man myself, it can be hard to translate feelings into words, and this article in specific has helped with the portrayal of the sex scene.  
>  **\+ socials**  
>  Come find me on Tumblr [@gaydennis](https://gaydennis.tumblr.com/).  
> 


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